Often when attempting to piece together a coherent and chronological sequence of bad decisions and forced encounters, one finds, quite frustratingly, no discernable order or distinguishable trait which one might use to prevent future quagmires.
Nonetheless, I find myself wondering with no little consternation how I stumbled into the situation I found myself in recently.
It began innocuously enough, a meeting of old friends to commiserate collectively at our uncertain futures, which any well adjusted human being invariably calculates to be to his or her disadvantage, as strange as it is.
Having been sufficiently stewed in the uneasy feeling of dread, a suggestion was made to avail ourselves of some light entertainment. The cinema being the most convenient and agreeable, a general consensus was reached to distract ourselves from our troubles with the improbable adventures of a Persian prince and his mystical dagger.
At this most inopportune moment, it was realised that one of the group was already very familiar with the adventures of the Persian prince having watched the movie previously. After much deliberating and polite hesitation, a splinter group of four emerged, of which I counted myself as one.
It was decided that the four would travel to Orchard as the population of skirts were more healthy and were generally of better stock, it is also there that a different movie would be available.
Upon arriving at the box office of the cinema, the irate cow behind the glass tapped impatiently on a mouse causing an image to appear on a screen which caused the party much dismay. The only unoccupied spaces in the theater was the aisles, which years of accumulated spilled Pepsi and other bodily evacuations have rendered unfit for seating, also it posed a fire safety risk.
The statuesque matron stared glassy eyed like a cow after an exhausting day of chewing grass as we played verbal hot potato with movie titles. During a lull in our game, someone casually mentioned ‘Sex and the City 2’, not wanting to seem like indecisive morons to the uncaring salary worker, we unthinkingly muttered our agreements.
That is how it came to be that four straight young men bought tickets to watch a porno flick for middle aged women.
As we walked away from the box office and the full import of what had just transpired had not yet sunk in, somebody suggested helpfully “M18, so got sex one right”, to which another more lucidly replied “who wants to watch ugly, middle aged women have sex?”
The conversation became more and more sparse as it became increasingly clear that we were out of place in that theater. The whole affair came to a head when the movie began with the wedding of a homosexual couple.
We spent the next two hours or so in that darkened room, uncomfortable, chuckling politely but awkwardly with the rest of the audience which thankfully were hard to make out in the darkness.
We left the theater, each reassuring the others with “that show was really not for us.” That was little comfort to my penis which was even more scared and confused than usual.
I jokingly remarked to my friend that movies like Twilight and Sex and the City were just different genres of pornography for girls. He sighed a sigh of resignation tinged with trepidation.
I spent that night sitting under a cold shower hoping the four of us didn’t look like the gay version of Carrie and her friends.
OMG I haven't had sex, bought shoes or made a remark in bad taste that would be confused for humour in 20 mins, it must be a record or something.
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